


anatomy

by fairyguts



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Angst, One Shot, Other, Pining, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyguts/pseuds/fairyguts
Summary: even flowers have their thorns, and alastor has an obsession with one of the most dangerous.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 89





	anatomy

**Author's Note:**

> aight y’all this is not smut & i know it seems like it is but everyone came after me on tumblr bc apparently it was ‘click bait’
> 
> it’s not smut lol

**THE FINGERS WERE** trailing over your throat, claws long and free of dirt, sharp but filed neatly, raking over your skin, leaving blotchy red lines in their favour.

Hands squeezed at your thighs, arms, waist, anywhere they roamed without care, free to do as they pleased, wandering over your body as if it were a golden trophy to admire.

Cold and empty fingertips grazed over your shoulders, allowing your head to remain in his mellow but dead hands, his pulse pounding in your ears at his wrist.

His eyes never once wavered. Unblinking, he held you, relishing in the sensation of the various other phantom limbs ghosting over your deliciously warm skin, intent on tearing you to delicate and supple pieces, your hot blood coating his fingers and his tongue, desperate for taste, his mouth watering.

Your skin was pleasantly redelent; bergamot and rose water, drenched in that citrusy scent and blooming around like wildflowers on a warm spring’s afternoon, where the delicate petals were slightly cold from morning’s rain and the stems were full of light green veins.

The pistil of a flower was usually concentric, full of tiny little circles bound together in a never-ending dance in the night until the peduncle was removed from the ground or the flower’s petals were plucked until there was nothing else but the disheartened ‘he loves me not’ as they dropped the plant to the floor. 

Your eyes were glassy, shimmering slightly in the dim lighting, unfocused and blind against the hands across the pulsating integument, enchanted by the feeling of the soft strands of hair coiling around their fingers.

The room was silent.

The only true noise that emitted was the sound of his clothes shifting and pulling as he ran his fingers along your skin. His bated breaths were loud, his lips close to your ear as his chest rose and fell unsteadily, hitching and pulling at the tendrils of his heart.

Your eyes reminded him of the flowers he used to grow in his mother’s garden from when he walked along the Earth’s surface, breathing and full of life.

If he were to cut a single glistening red and dewey-leaved luna hibiscus straight down the middle to admire the anatomy and explain its anatomy, comparing it to you, it would be far easier to imagine.

The petals were like your eyelashes; delicate and soft and long, fluttering in the wind and easily able to fall off due to a disruption. Petals kissed along his skin, a slightly brittle feeling no doubt, and yet terribly comforting, much like your own eyelashes as he felt them against the pads of his fingers, paying extra attention as he brushed them outwards gently.

The stigma was much like your pupil. As of now, it was barely dilating, your irides playing no part in keeping the light from entering and leaving your eye. Not that the room was particularly bright — it was quite dark, actually, and it was almost maddeningly inconvenient for you, being unable to do anything but _hear him_ — and he preferred it that way. 

The style of the flower he thought to be the pathway of the light travelling through your pupil, refracting at the lens and bending in a sophisticated fashion, letting you see the world that he would never present to you. 

It was almost gratifying witnessing your slightly parted and swollen lips, so full and pink, trembling every so often if he was to sit and watch, or simply brush his lips across your bruised knuckles or the frozen cold skin of your rich-coloured cheeks.

The ovary of the flower was difficult to describe with the thousands of metaphors and admirances that crossed his mind as he stared longingly at the far too alluring colour of your eyes.

The ovary represented the vitreous body of your eye, keeping its shape round and allowing the light bending at your lens to carry even further to the back of your eye.

One of the hollow, senseless hands traced over the skin beneath your shirt, just below your navel, resting for a moment, one day hoping to feel a pleasant amount of warmth and a small bump, perhaps.

The receptacle of the luna hibiscus was much like the film at the back of the eye. The retina contains photoreceptors that allow you to process the light around you and conjure it up into many electrical impulses to the brain, and it does this at a speed far too fast to comprehend. He couldn’t think about you as fast as he was able to see your every move, and yet sometimes he couldn't think when you were around him at all.

It was almost incredibly fascinating to him, how somebody as small and enchanting as you could overpower him in a way that required no strength or thought.

He felt weakened at the knees at the mere mention of you. Everything reminded him of you: a flower, for instance. You were so fragile, however, and the single prick of your skin would pain you so. 

Alas, the stem of the flower most definitely was the nerve at the back of the eye. The optic nerve was a thin, but powerful mechanism which stretched and sent signals to your brain, allowing you to see the world that wasn’t there.

You would be able to see him, and he felt thankful for your sight, and his as well. He couldn’t imagine a single day where he couldn’t picture you with your warm body wrapped snugly against his.

For now, however, seeing him and feeling his fingers and the rest of the phantom limbs trail across your skin, innocuous but still very much alarming, was much too difficult, enraptured in a single blinking red light, incredibly dim and arduous for those wishing to focus on it, but nevertheless _there. ___

____

____

You looked helpless in the seat, unmoving as he felt the dire need to pull you out of the water and into his arms properly, but you would struggle.

____

____

You didn’t want him.

____

____

That much was obvious, and the amount of times he had pulled flowers apart at the thought of you never loving his back was absurd, insane, if you will.

____

____

He was drunk off the thought of you, and yet every time he appeared with open arms and astounding stories he couldn’t wait to tell you while you sat in his lap and he toyed with the soft locks of your hair, you refused to let him even come close to touching you.

____

____

Admiring afar was frustrating, to say the least. He was always much too distant, never having the chance to let his hands roam across your skin and pull you into him.

____

____

His attempts of your heart were fruitless. No amount of flowers and small gifts he hid for you would grant him a place in your arms. No amount of soft kisses to your cheeks and your palms would define how strongly he needed you to be his.

____

____

Never had he been so awfully greedy for something. And never had he been turned down in such a way where it left him defenceless, knowing he would never be yours, no matter how much it pained him.

____

____

His little _flower _would never bloom alongside him in the garden he had made all those years ago. It was as if you and him grew together, but somebody else had come in and stolen you from the earth, deeming you far too pretty to be left alive, leaving him behind to rot _alone. _____

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

It was almost pathetic to admit he couldn’t live through a day without the thought of you crossing his mind.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He hated you for making him feel so feeble and estranged to you, and he still felt so far away, even as the shadowed hands brushed over your lips slightly as his own hands scratched softly down your arms, admiring his marks of the red that bubbled upon your skin at the wake.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Slowly, he moved behind you, letting himself scratch a heart to the nape of your neck.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

A heart of which you never gave to him. His teeth gritted, that smile straining against his lips, far too wide and beginning to split the vermillion, drawing blood. Not that it mattered.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

His finger twitched, and before he knew it, his index finger caved into your supple flesh, the layers of your skin breaking open to reveal the warmth at the back of your neck, noticeably smouldering and pulsating against his claw as he idly dug himself deeper into the hole he had made, transfixed at the blood dyeing the red of his nail and even darker shade, the sweetness much too strong to handle.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Your blood was a treat, and before he lost himself to the world of your taste, he heard your breath break, removing his finger from the ring of skin, red continuing to spill down your neck and underneath your clothes.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

The red would pool where he left the scratches on your back, stinging as a reminder of what you had done to him to make him feel this way. It was all your fault.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

It was your fault on how enchanted he was with the way you spoke, how you _breathed,_ how in love he was with the rise and fall of your chest, how your eyebrows would twitch slightly as you slept away peacefully without a care in the world. How warm your hands were in his, no matter if you were trapped in the depths of a blissful dream or wide awake. 

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Your breathing sounded like a harmony of innocent angels, and yet he wasn’t particularly fond of the winged creatures with their golden halos and yet sinister smiles. The religious imagery of angels that came from the core of somebody’s mind and painted across the reredos of the churches was far more like paradise than the angels he had come to grow accustomed to.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

How divinely iridescent your irides had been when he watched them glimmer in the darkness of the cold, empty room, devoid of anything but him and you and the blinking red light, his own eyes the only source of light as they bathed your face in that adoring crimson glow, haunting against your pretty features. 

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He buried his face in the back of your hair, his lips barely ghosting over the wound he had given you over his inability to tame himself, much too animalistic and messy, not at all perfect for you. His heart throbbed at the thought, his hand trailing up your arm to rest upon your shoulder, his nose moving to rest to the side of your neck.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Citrus filled his mind again, feeling his face heat up beyond belief as he became intoxicated in your fragrance, aware of how red his face was, his lips parting to let through resistant breaths as his smile completely vanished from his face.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He didn’t need to smile. You didn’t _deserve_ to see him happy after what you had done to twist his insides and rearrange them in such a way where it left everything stretching distastefully and leaving him in discomfort.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

It didn’t at all aid his aching that you reminded him of his life. His awful, twisted years of living in agony, hiding and an absolute fool for leaving his fantasies and his emotions and his heart locked away for nobody to touch, only for you to appear and snatch it away, not knowing what to do with it.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

His fingers remained still, no matter how much he wanted to tear into your skin and viscera until you were nothing more so he could forget you and your entirety, so he couldn’t hurt anymore.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

But the phantom limbs did as they pleased, remaining at your skin and squeezing at your wrist, feeling your pulse, slow and steady and much unlike his own as his own pounded behind his ribs. The fingers resting at your lower stomach still twitched, wanting to feel live bloom there that was his, a small and new restless child that he wished he’d be able to share with you. False hope seemed so much better than no hope at all.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

His own fingers trailed over your jaw, this time careful to not pierce the surface. You were so delicate and breakable, relishing the last few moments he was able to be as close as he wanted before he pulled you from the water and reality crashed on his shoulders and weighed him down.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Even though he needed to feel the benevolence of your lips, comforting and belonging against his own, he never took advantage of your state, as transfixed and dependant on him to bring you out, knowing that a kiss was reserved for when you would never give your heart for him to treasure and keep safe beneath his wing. 

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

You both were very well aware of how devoted he was to please you, whether you needed it or not. He could spend hours upon hours of holding you in his arms and describe everything from how he felt to how gorgeous you were if you’d let him. You knew he wouldn’t be happier to do so. 

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

But you wouldn’t let him, no matter whether you needed somebody to comfort you. _Anybody but him._ You couldn’t, not with him. He was prone to hurting you as he had done countless times. Never with his words, no, but he’d scratch to the point where you bled, wanting to mark you over and try to convince you you were his. 

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He’d apologise profusely, but he knew deep down he’d do it again.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

And that’s why he couldn’t have you, and he knew that it was all his fault. But he didn’t understand, for he always told himself that it was you that was in the wrong, and was a selfish but adorable little blossom that he craved to touch and hated to hurt for.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

A smile stretched its way to his split lips once again, uncaring for the stinging as he snatched his hands away for your skin, the shadows following with sickening cracks as if the inanimacy had bones and sinew inside. 

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He removed himself, disgusted with his actions as he wiped the phantom of your skin beneath his fingers across his red blazer, no longer fond of your warmth.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He didn’t care for the scratches and the pain that you’d be in once your awoke again, your eyes still staring straight ahead at the red light, still forever blinking, now shining with desperation, though you still didn’t move. 

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

And so, he turned away, unable to look at you and fall all over again as his microphone grew into his hands, the staff significantly longer as he used it to lean himself against it, unable to keep himself standing.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

_“Awake.”_

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

The light from the living room flooded into view as he heard you gasp out, almost choking on the saliva you hadn’t been swallowing for what seemed like hours on end, the tears from your previously glossy eyes spilling over without mercy, soaking your cheeks and dripping from your chin onto the chair and your clothes.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

The red light was nowhere to be seen as your eyes darted around, trying to focus on the sudden sounds and smells and the rest of your senses coming back to you.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Your fingers squeezed at the armrests of your chair, feeling the plushness beneath your skin, the sensation almost foreign to you.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

A slight line of drool dripped down your lips, unable to swallow most of the saliva your mouth had built up, feeling the stinging begin to arise all over your body as if something had attacked you.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Your eyebrows furrowed as your eyes squeezed shut, your legs kicking our instinctively, feeling hands ghosting over your thighs, though there was nothing there when your eyes opened again.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Alastor turned to you with a simple crane of his neck, his smile displaying nothing in particular that your blurred vision would be able to understand. You weren’t sure whether he was pained by your suffering or enjoyed it fully, knowing he was the one that cursed you with it.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Your eyes pleaded, and that was all it took to break him.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Within a moment, he was at your side, fussing over you as you attempted to push him away with the dead strength and heavy arms that you possessed, though he wouldn’t have it, a dark green handkerchief appearing within one of his hands as he held your face still with the other.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

You noticed the cut in his lip, but refused to acknowledge it as he pressed the cloth to your skin, gently wiping away the tears and drool that stained your skin. He didn’t seem to be very fond of your speech, ignoring the whimpers that vibrated at the bottom of your throat. You could almost feel your irides constricting and relaxing as the light swamped back.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He absolutely despised how vulnerable he was, especially to somebody like you. 

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He was almost satisfied to see you in such a treacherous state, aware that you could feel the hole in the back of your neck, surrounded by a stinging heart shape that you would most definitely notice later on when you searched for the source of your pain, horrified at the scratches and holes that littered your body.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Anybody could notice how wobbly his lip was, however, trying to keep the smile plastered to his face, as fake as always.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

_“I’m sorry.”_ He was choking on his words, never having to apologise to anyone but you. Because he felt guilty only for you and, for this, would let you completely tear him to pieces if it allowed you to be happy. “I’m so so sorry.”

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He clutched at your jacket desperately, his blood-soaked claws threatening to puncture holes through the soft fabric as his arms shook, embarrassed and entirely at your mercy, his hair a mess above his head and his cheeks burning crimson. He felt so pathetic, like a whimpering child.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

His face pressed to your stomach as he sobbed out, whining out a string of inaudible apologies, trying to relish in your warmth before he mustered up the courage to let go. Or before you pushed him back yourself and sneered at him.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Why couldn’t you just disappear already and completely vanish from his mind? He wanted you gone, far away from him when he was well aware it was him that continued coming back to you, and not the other way around.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Your smell, and the weighing dread that filled his own stomach and blazed his face with blood was enough to have him stumbled back to his own feet, still whispering apologies as you finally noticed the scratches and the red welts along your arms. 

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He was so ashamed to be this weak beneath your gaze as he held his hands up in surrender as if you were going to split him apart limb by limb, knowing that he was much too strong for you to be able to lay a hand on him, but still overrun by your power over him.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

His back hit one of the walls of the living room, his bloodied fingers clawing at the plaster of the interior of your home, ruining the pristine creamy white with red smudges, too dark to go unnoticed by any guests who roamed.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Disgustingly _salacious_ thoughts raced through his mind, wishing your hands restrained him to the wall and your body pressed flush against his, and he felt his face grow and glow impossibly hotter at the obscene idea of what you could do to him. He surprised himself even considering the concept of you being enamoured and pumped full of desire, especially for him only.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

How a wispy little flower had him wrapped around their stem was unbeknownst to him entirely.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He felt his knees give out, using his back as support as he slightly slid down the wall, almost cracking it under the weight he beheld to it. Dead weight was never light, and sometimes dead was better.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

Oh, how his heart hurt, threatening to crack open his rib cages and leap from his throat. He could feel it pulsing unevenly and abnormally fast in his ears, his temples, even his stomach, absolutely everywhere if he focused hard enough.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

The lump in his throat began to jump as he giggled behind closed lips, the laughter nothing close to joyous and more pained, coming out unamused and horrified with what he had done.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

And while he glared at you with that awful smile of his that presented his terribly sharp teeth that had bitten into your flesh once before and turned them red, his black gums slightly displayed, you realised he wasn’t smiling at you.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

He bared his teeth at you, recalling he was not at fault and everything that had happened was because of you.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

And with that, he disappeared, his microphone chirping a farewell as his figure gathered into a shadow before spreading out of sight and was no more but the reminder of the blood on your walls.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

You didn’t care about the mess.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

You cared for the stinging all over your skin, all over the delicate areas where the flesh was softer and much more malleable. 

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

You cared for the hole that burned more than anything else at the back of your neck, reaching up to hold it and feeling your fingers become slick and sticky, no longer the rich colour of your skin.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

You cared for the stinging that traced the shape of a heart as you felt it blaze against your skin in that exact formation, familiar with his antics of tainting your flesh and grating his teeth along your noticeably exposed collarbone. He had pulled down your shirt just slightly to trace his fingers along the prominence, entranced with how your skin and bone felt beneath his touch.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

And yet, you cared for everything but him.

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

And that didn’t matter to you, even if it slowly tore Alastor and his heart to shreds.

_______ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> please forgive me for i have never written ‘angst’ or whatever this shitty piece is labeled as.
> 
> this is more of a character study, and i just really wanted to explore al because i fell in love with him when i discovered the pilot ?? 
> 
> this is just me taking his sadism and experimenting and lil bit, feel free to yell at me.


End file.
